


Diamonds and Lotus Petals

by Succulentils



Series: Suits and Suitors [1]
Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Character Study, Cock Warming, Domestic Fluff, Gentle Sex, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Stress Relief, Subspace, artistic smut, to Inspector's dismay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 19:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Succulentils/pseuds/Succulentils
Summary: Staying in control is easy; getting him to settle down so he doesn’t hurt himself is the hard part.





	Diamonds and Lotus Petals

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Inspector Makes Terrible Decisions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2041431) by [prometheanTactician](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/prometheanTactician). 



> This is less steamy and more me trying to write Droog and Inspector in character;;

For such a cautious person, Pickle Inspector is surprisingly reckless in bed. You suspect it has something to do with his self-destructive tendencies. Most of the time he’s too self conscious to even look you in the eyes while you’re getting intimate, but on nights like these he practically begs you to hold him down and mark him, or wrap your hands around his throat while you take him as rough as you please. You have no qualms about mixing pain and pleasure, as implied by your unofficial title as the most sadistic member of the Crew. But despite your inclination toward the more deviant side of lovemaking, it’s not a necessity for you. You are perfectly content with taking things slow and sensual as opposed to the spur-of-the-moment passion-fueled trysts Slick and Sleuth have. But when Inspector comes home tense and strung up like this, trembling unconsciously as he all but drags you away from your work with little tugs to your sleeve, it seems more like a need than a want.

And this wouldn’t be a problem, except Inspector’s… fragile. His vim is so low that you have to stay conscious of your every action, lest you accidently hurt him. Yet, staying in control is easy; getting him to settle down so he doesn’t hurt himself is the hard part. The first time this happened, you’d been convinced he was drunk and was just extremely good at hiding it. You’d persuaded him to go to bed and he woke you up in the middle of the night with a full-blown panic attack. Needless to say, you’ve learned to deal with him before he reaches that point.

There are two ways to go about this. You’ve learned to read his tells well enough to guess which one he needs. When he comes home with a vacant and dazed look, it means his work day has been void of meaning. He’s been going through the motions, but he’s not really thinking about what he’s doing. On these days you have to hide the few bottles of alcohol in the house (not that he isn’t smart enough to figure out where they are, but it seems like he appreciates the concern). The goal is to bring him back, to remind him why he’s here. You usually tie him to the bed (silk bindings, no rope to minimize the amount of damage done) and subject him to as much pleasure as he can physically take. Sometimes you edge him to draw it out, and by the time you’re done with him he’s begging and squirming desperately on the sheets.

And then there are nights like tonight. You know it’s been a hectic work day as soon as Inspector steps through the door. His hair is mussed from where he’s been combing through it, hat slipping precariously off to the side. He’s twitchy and trembling, mumbling nonstop under his breath. He must have a particularly stressful case as he’s still in work mode. You make a mental note to talk to Sleuth (or at least get Slick to talk to him) about giving Inspector a day or two off. With a single finger, you beckon him over from the doorway where he was hovering. He lets you do your customary check; he knows not to drink before seeing you if he wants something intimate like this. You take his hat off, placing it carefully on your desk, before pulling him down to kiss him gently on the forehead. He wraps his long arms around you, still mumbling quietly under his breath. You take a moment just to analyze the situation. Inspector’s in his head too much tonight; he needs someone to take control and tell him what to do. You feel the corner of your mouth tilt up, and you pet the back of his neck soothingly as you scoot your chair out from the desk.

Then you tell him to get under it.

He goes willingly, folding up his long limbs so that he’s huddled compactly under the desk. There’s a cushion already there from the last time you’ve done this, a couple of weeks back. You hate when Inspector’s overly stressed, but you can’t say you haven’t been looking forward to this.

You scoot your chair up once more so that you can reach the piles of paperwork you have stacked on the desk. Slick’s been working the Crew more than normal in preparation for a heist you have planned tomorrow. You’re the one in charge of balancing the books, so you have spreadsheets of equipment and transportation and potential witness bribery costs laid out in front of you. A second stack contains printed out articles and bits of information gained from other, less… formal sources. It’s always in your best interest to research everything you can beforehand, because you never know when an unlabeled back alley or a subtly worded blackmailing could save your life.

Long fingers fumble with the button on your pants. With one hand you reach down and stroke his hair, a languid, unhurried motion; with the other, you pick up a pen and resume filling in boxes. His lips are soft and sweet around you, mouth gentle and eager to please. He gags, and you fist his curls and ease him back on instinct. It’s obvious he wants you to be a little rough. Too bad. Tonight’s not about what he wants, but what you want. And what you want is for him to relax.

You work for another hour or so on the ledgers. At one point he taps twice on your leg: a warning. He apologizes and says his leg is cramping, so you let him stand and help him stretch. After, he folds back under your desk with another apology and before you can tell him that the apology is unnecessary, he’s right back at it. Toward the end of the hour you begin tidying up the stacks, sorting them so that you know exactly what needs to be done tomorrow. Inspector doesn’t seem to register the sound. You pull him off (he makes a discontent noise) and tuck yourself back into your pants. The fabric is soaked through. Thankfully, you’re only wearing slacks, since you’re working from home today. You slide back and glance coolly under the desk.

Two wide eyes blink back at you, a little glazed over and glistening with unshed tears. You consciously make the effort to continue breathing. He’s enchanting like this, open and trusting and free of the nerves that so often cause him to stumble over his words. You pull out a handkerchief from your pocket and wipe his mouth carefully. He lets out a slight laugh and your heart soars. If Boxcars could hear your inner monologue right now, he’d be having a field day with it.

You try to block all thoughts of your coworkers from your mind. It seems you try for a little too long, as Inspector slinks out from under the desk and kisses you before you can say anything. He tastes a little like the sandwich you made him for lunch (which sounds much too domestic now that you think about it). His hand tentatively cradles your jaw. He’s not shaking anymore, which is a very good thing.

With a little bit of encouragement, he wraps his legs around your waist, and you carry him to the bedroom. He’s noodle-thin and light as a feather, a testament to his atrocious diet of tea, spirits and tootsie rolls. It’s difficult to get him to eat, but the sense of satisfaction that washes over you when you see him nibbling away at something you made for him is worth it. You set him down gently on the bed and he lets go of you to start unbuttoning his shirt. On nights like these he rarely has enough patience to allow you to through the motions of folding and hanging up your clothes like you would normally do, so you don’t bother attempting to strip. These clothes are going straight in the laundry anyway. Instead, you place your hat on its hook and undo your tie, leaving it on the nightstand. He watches you do this, lying pale and perfect against the dark sheets. You climb onto the bed and pull him close, his back to your front.

You take your time prepping him. He’s sensitive as always, and easily overwhelmed. The pace at which you add fingers is a little too fast for your liking, but he’s begging for it and after the whole night of him being so good you can’t deny him this, even if it must be slightly painful. When he’s ready you slide into him from behind, cradling him close. He clutches your arm to his chest like it’s a lifeline and closes his eyes. You nuzzle the side of his face, sliding your other hand up to encircle his throat. You’ve told him that you’re not going to choke him, but it seems like just having your fingers around his neck is enough to get him going. The two of your rock together, slow but with an underlying sense of desperation.

He gasps out a plea for more. You adjust the angle so that you have a bit more leverage, and then you’re going to town, single-mindedly focused on pushing him toward the edge. He’s quiet when he comes, a soft gasp and the tightening around you the only indication that it’s happened. You hum lowly and pull out, catching most of your seed in your hand. He doesn’t like sleeping with your essence dripping out of him, and you highly doubt he’ll stay awake long enough for you two to have a thorough cleansing. With a towel you wipe your hand, then you coax him into the bathroom. The two of you take a perfunctory shower; he’s drowsy and unsteady on his feet, so you keep a hand ready on his shoulder lest he fall asleep standing up. You help him wash, but you let his do his hair. He has a certain way of doing it that keeps his curls from becoming too frizzy, and he’s as uptight about it as you are about your clothes. Once finished, you strip the top layer of the sheets off the bed and start the laundry as he goes through his nightly routine. By the time he returns to the bedroom, you’re halfway through a chapter of The Moonstone, sitting against the headboard with the blankets riding low on your hips. He climbs into bed and you mark your place in the book, setting it down as he curls into your side. You reach over and turn the light off.

“I love you,” he whispers. You kiss his neck, the damp curls tickling your nose.

“And I, you,” you murmur back. One day, you’ll be able to say it. But not today. He doesn’t seem that bothered by it, though, breathing evening out and body going limp against yours. You’re almost certain he’s asleep when he mumbles one more thing.

“Please be careful tomorrow.” You can’t help the surprised chuckle you let out. Of course he knows about the heist. You can’t keep anything from him, can you? You murmur your assent and he nods as if thanking you. You fall asleep with him a warm presence against your side, and dream of lotus flowers and imaginary kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> The Diamond, in its rarity and beauty, is a symbol of purity and innocence, of love and fidelity, and embraces strength of character, ethics, and faithfulness to oneself and others. It is indicative of the loving and open nature with which one came into the physical realm, and encourages the aspect of truth and trust.  
> (crystalvaults.com)
> 
> The meaning of the lotus flower holds such power because it can offer hope and strength to people struggling in their daily lives. It is a symbol that shows that no matter where you start off in life and no matter what you're going through, you have the ability to rise above, overcome all negativity and find bliss as you emerge from your struggles.  
> (lotusflowermeaning.net)


End file.
